


I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

by iamavacado



Series: Bo and Esky Series [3]
Category: Bo and Esky, Legendofgrump - Fandom, OC - Fandom, Original characters - Fandom
Genre: F/M, OC, Partners in Crime, based on a Set It Off song, eskysPOV, freinds ocs, legendofgrump, not my OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Esky wakes up in a morgue. The police think she's dead. But she isn't. So where do we go from here?





	I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

**Author's Note:**

> To legend: i wanted to try something from Esky's perspective. Its not much of a start, but I think I'm gonna take it somewhere. I hope it's okay ;-;

Two things ran through Esky's mind when she woke up wearing nothing but a sheet on a metal table in the middle of a morgue.

One: where am I?

That _would_ the first thing, right?

Her head was absolutely killing her. Throbbing like a crowbar against a door that was made from steel, so every thwap echoed against itself and bounced off the metal, making the jab sound even louder than it really was. With a small groan, Esky clenched her eyes shut to ward off the intense white light above her body. The humming of the light made her want to scream because it was the only sound in the room, and its dominance was infuriating. Its slice of artificial brightness seemed to actually cut into her, making it feel like a bad idea to even move.

She tried to call out. Her voice came out only as a small squeak.

She tried to move her arm. It felt like someone had taken her shoulder and shoved it under a bulldozer and a bed of rocks. Her other arm was more cooperative. Slowly--though not in pain, her muscles were still stiff--she reached down and threw the sheet off of her. The strangely cold air of the room made Esky shiver.

Moving molecule by molecule, she propped herself up, gritting her teeth against against her pounding head and aching shoulder. Once she was in a sitting position, she lightly brushed where the pain was coming from, on her temple.

She shouldn't have done that. Even that gentle touch sent a spike of firey pain across her head. She winced, and stifled a curse. For a moment, she wondered what had happened to her to create the wound in the first place. It was more than a cut, but definitely nothing from a knife or other sharp blade. 

Another quick and painful probe of the area revealed that it was kind of a shallow, round divot going in a straight line, from the front to the back. The skin around it was sensitive and stung when she touched it. Could it be burned? If she was injured, why didn't whoever found her take her to the hospital?

Esky had started to swing her legs around the table to get off and ask someone where she was, when it hit her. And she should've figured it sooner: her injury wasn't wrapped and treated like one would expect it to be. Because they wouldn't waste medical supplies on a corpse. 

She was in a morgue because they thought she was dead. 

Oh, oh my god. Esky almost yelled in joy at the realization, but her head that felt like a jar full of rattling marbles prevented her. Still, she clasped her hands together in glee, grin clear on her face. What more could a criminal ask for? The entire police force of the town she just robbed announcing her death, and they themselves looked her in the face and determine that she was no longer living? Except she _was?_

She had to tell Bo. He would be so excited. They could finally get the Hope diamond like they always planned without the unnecessary attention. Now they could do--

Wait.

Esky looked around the room for another table with her boyfriend on it. Maybe he just hadn't woken up yet. But a quick scan around the room told her that she was alone. All the body storages were closed and locked, and Esky didn't even bother to consider the fact that he could be dead, because that just didn't happen to either of them.

So that led to her second question: Where the fuck was Bo?

As soon as she started thinking about him, she was hit with flashbacks, and she remembered what happened. 

_We were in a shootout,_ she thought, _and I had lost my gun, so I stole the owner's. It was too big for me, but I didn't care at the time._

Feeling the way her shoulder did now, she wished she would've.

_Bo ran out of bullets, and the cop and I shot at each other at the same time._

But she must've pulled the trigger just a hair before he did, so even though she got him in his vest, he was aiming for her head. He missed by an inch, only grazing her. But the kickback from the rifle shoved her to the ground, and she passed out. She was grateful they thought she died, because if not then she'd probably make a fantastic cheese grater by now.

A seed of worry fell into her stomach as she thought about Bo. Was he dead like Esky was supposed to be?

She quickly dismissed the thought. While there were a lot of guys that day, and they had a lot more firepower than Esky and he did, Bo was a true marksman. He barely ever missed a shot and he could lead a charge while sick, sorry, or sober. Or not sober. She figured he got out okay.

The only question was: where the hell did he go?

Esky hopped off the table and onto the cold tile floor. If she didn't know any better, she'd think she was on a sidewalk in Alaska during winter. God, sometimes she wished she had some good shoes. All this money and she never bought quality shoes? What a waste.

Okay, first thing's first: finding a way out of here.

It was a morgue, so at first, Esky thought maybe it was the basement of a separate building. Then Esky realized that she was a criminal, and wasn't there a morgue inside the police station in the case of thieves and murderers that happened to die in a shootout or something?

Right. Because people who steal don't deserve to lie dead next to the regular people. Even though the crematorium was quite literally a block away. Well, Esky figured, at least there weren't any cameras in here. No need to waste tax payer dollars on equipment to make sure cadavers don't go anywhere.

Esky padded up to the steel door, moving slowly because of her head, which was starting to hurt a tad less, but still enough to affect her. There was a small window--size of a book--on it, intermitted with security wire. She reached up on her tip toes and peered out.

Just as she suspected, she was in the police station morgue. On a lower level, obviously, but still there. A few men and women in uniform passed by the window, unknowing that one of their corpses was actually alive. This, she needed to use to her advantage. Everyone and their mother knew what she looked like, surely, so she'd have to get a disguise. She turned and looked around at the bare walls. Aside from a table with various autopsy supplies (that included a seriously cool shaped knife that Esky quickly pocketed), there was nothing.

Nothing except the body storages.

Surely the bodies that had been gone through and autopsied had their clothes put back on them to prepare for an embalming.

Esky almost folded into herself with disgust at the very thought. Her, defacing a dead body by stealing its clothes and wearing them as her own, just to sneak out of a police precinct? How morbid could you get? How awful?

_Really, white knight?_ Esky suddenly thought. _You kill and steal for a living. And you're worried about their clothes? How do you know that one of these guys isn't someone you killed?_

She had a point there.

Esky stepped over to the wall of small metal doors, each with keys inside of the locks. Inside each key loop was a tag. On the tag was a name, birth and death date, and a cause. She started at the bottom corner, and moved her way up, reading the tags so she wouldn't accidentally come across something she didn't want to see.

They started simple enough. Well, simple enough for death. Cause of Death: gunshot, stab wound, car accident, drowning. 

Then they got weird.

Autoerotic asphyxiation, salt overdose, rabies, _sexual misadventure?_ Part of her wanted to open the doors just to see what the result of that looked like. But she didn't.

And then one that seemed perfect. Old age. Derek Daigle, dead at the age of 92. Someone who died peacefully in their sleep. What he was doing here, she didn't know. Maybe he stole oranges from the flea market. She twisted the key and opened the door, sliding out the table.

Esky couldn't help the yell she gave when she saw the old man's face. It was a deathly gray. The cheeks were hollow and empty, and the eyes were half open and half closed. The mouth was wide open, showing his lack of teeth. The only thing that seemed to compliment him was his fancy brown hat, nestled on his head of silver, dead hair.

And his matching brown suit that looked to be just Esky's size. If not a little tall for her.

The throbbing of her head was replaced with the wrinkling of her nose and attempting not to retch. Slowly, she reached down and started to unbutton the collar of the suit.

***

"Well," Esky said to herself, "I hope I never have to do that again."

She stared at her new ensemble in the small mirror that was sitting on the table of tools. The suit was an ugly, faded brown that would be perfect for people to ignore. It was just a size too big, and the appendages were a bit too long for her, but it wasn't anything too obvious. Tucked inside the hat were her ears--something that, if seen, would definitely give her away. She even found a pocketwatch inside the pants. Though novel, she ditched it in favor of the knife she had from before. 

All in all, she looked dapper.

Esky attempted something of an accent. "Who is Esky?" she tried in her best American drawl. "I am...Sir McMan..."

Sir McMan? You couldn't do better than that?

After running through a few names (not considering the already dead names, seeing as that might raise suspicion), she settled on a boring, inconspicuous one. Carter Smith. Something interesting, but not too interesting to remember for more than a few minutes.

Once again, she went up to the window and peeked out. The bustle of ten minutes ago died down. There were only three or four people there now. Esky pondered waiting for a little longer, but considering that she didn't wake up in one of those small, death chambers like her dear friend Derek, she figured that whoever was working on her wasn't done yet. They might have been coming back any second now. So she had to make a move, and make one quick.

Esky waited just long enough to make sure that no one was in her field of vision. Then, she pushed down the handle of the door and inched it open. Slowly, so slowly. She poked an eye out. Someone just turned the corner out of sight. Thank god they weren't coming in her direction.

Then, quickly, she pushed the door open enough to slip her body through the crack. She looked down one hallway. Then the other. No one. Phew.

It was definitely some kind of underground level. The floor was a cracked and dirty white tile, paired with brick walls painted a muddy purple. Why purple of all colors? And when Esky took a step in the old man's dress shoes, the sound of the step echoed against the walls. The air was strangely cold even outside the morgue, and it had this wet, mossy smell to it.

Which way would the elevator be? Esky wondered. She flipped an imaginary coin and decided to turn right, down the way the person had turned the corner. Though she wished she could steer clear of running into anyone, where the people were was probably where the exit was. 

Though determined, Esky couldn't help but feel nervous. Maybe it was her physical ailments that faltered her moxie, seeing as a badly bruised shoulder and aching head would be a huge setback if she happened to get into a fight. She had a knife on her, but using it with her non dominant hand would be a challenge. And thinking quickly like she usually did would be much more difficult if she only had a second to process what was going on. Her headache would make that almost impossible. 

_Don't worry,_ she reassured herself, _you've talked your way out of bank robberies and murders and everything else. It will be fine._

It would be so much easier if she had her gun. Or if Bo were here. Bo. Where was he? Somewhere in her mind, she remembered squealing tires at the time of the shootout. Had he really up and left her there all by herself?

She tried not to get upset. It was something they'd talked about. But Esky knew she would never actually be able to go through with it should the situation arise. If Bo was in danger, Esky wouldn't stop until she was sure he was safe. So what made it so easy for _him_ to leave at the first hint of danger?

Okay, maybe she was overreacting. He did do as they discussed, and he was probably already at one of their hideouts waiting for her with a wad of cash and ten thousand balloons. When she got there, she'd hug him, they'd kiss, and then everything would be fine.

Esky took a deep breath, and assumed her best old man waddle as she walked down the hallway. Don't hesitate. Freezing up when you saw a cop would be a dead giveaway.

Thankfully, no one was down the hallway when she made it to the elevator. However, there was someone _in_ the elevator when the doors opened.

It was a police officer she recognized. He was at the shootout, but she didn't remember what role he played. But the sling on his shoulder encompassing one of his arms told her it was an important one. "Excuse me sir," he said upon seeing her, "you aren't allowed to be down here." He instinctively put his free hand to his belt, which no doubt housed his gun. 

Esky slipped her hand in her pocket and gripped the handle of the knife, which, Esky now realized was more of a scalpel, and would probably do less damage than a gunshot wound would do. She was suddenly glad the had also concealed the graze on the side of her head. 

"I was escorted down here by a young whippersnapper," Esky said in her best old American man voice. "But I'm not sure where he went. I was identifying my grandson in the morgue."

Sling-shoulder man was doubtful. "Who escorted you down here?" He raised a single eyebrow. _The Detective Brow,_ Esky called it.

"Oh, I can't remember his name. He had a do-dad here and a thingamajig there. And some kind of whatchamacallit around his neck."

"A....tie?"

"Yes! That's what it was!"

"So, it was one of our officers?"

Esky stepped into the elevator as Sling guy stepped out. "Yes, it was. I think his name was Derek. But I know my way out. I need to grieve." She faked wiping a tear. "He was so young, you know? He got into all those fancy things the kids got into, and he died over them."

Sling guy let his hand fall to his side. He was still incredulous, but who was he to doubt what was possibly a grieving grandfather? "I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure he was a good boy."

Esky slammed a button. "He sure was. My David."

"I thought you said his name was Derek."

The doors closed as Esky said, "That's his last name!"

***

Once out of the precinct, Esky ducked into an alley. Thankfully, no one else came up to her and asked about her grieving sons or what have you. 

She realized that she hadn't let go of the knife yet, and she pulled her hand out of her pocket.

There was a small cut there where her sweat had caused her palm to slide up the blade. It was bleeding the slightest bit.

Esky closed her hand in a fist, and started off. _Now to find Bo._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that enough happened in this story to keep it interesting. And by the way, The Sling Guy was Davidson. I think he's gonna be a callback character from now on ;). Once again, hope you liked it!!!!


End file.
